You Learn
by Sorrel
Summary: Angel has a bad day, and Spike makes it better by teaching him something new. Even very old dogs can learn new tricks. SLASH.


**You Learn.** Spike teaches Angel something new.

* * *

_"I recommend_

_Biting off more than you can chew_

_I certainly do."_

"You Learn" by Alanis Morissette

* * *

Spike laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and all Angel could think about was making him shut up. This infuriating little prick invaded his business, invaded his life, and now was coming into his bedroom and mocking him because he wasn't frigging expecting company, so he was buck-ass naked. And then laughing at him because he'd grabbed frantically for the nearest piece of fabric, which happened to be a large, fluffy pink towel that Harmony had added to punish him for some imagined infraction on his part.

Spike _still_ hadn't stopped laughing, and Angel couldn't help it. He snapped. He dropped the towel, lunged for Spike, and wrapped his hands around that smooth white throat, letting himself act out an oft-entertained fantasy that managed to get him through several long meetings. Of course, it did absolutely no good whatsoever, since Spike, being a vampire, had no need to breathe, but it felt good to do it, just the same.

And Spike let him. Angel wasn't quite sure why, but Spike wasn't snarling and spitting and punching at him, trying his damnedest to get him off, and Angel could only be grateful because he really didn't feel like having his nose broken _again_ after the night he'd just had. In fact, he almost felt grateful to Spike, letting him work out the aggression from a truly awful night.

The gratitude lasted about thirty seconds, because that's how long it took before Spike had somehow hooked one booted foot behind Angel's bare one and dumped him on his ass on the bed. Angel started to lunge up, roaring with fury, completely oblivious to how ridiculous he looked roaring with fury when he was naked, but Spike somehow managed to pin him long enough to catch his wrists and-

Shit, where had those come from?

Angel lay on his back, handcuffed quite neatly to the incredibly sturdy bed frame, and just... glared at Spike. Christ. How had he gotten himself into this position, again?

Spike leered cheerfully down at him. "Damn, Angelus. Looking good, for a desk-vampire. Good to know you've kept yourself in shape."

"Fuck you, Spike."

"Don't mind if I do," Spike said honestly. "I mean, have you looked in a mirror recently?" He stopped, as if just realizing what he'd said. "Huh. Guess not, then."

Angel gritted his teeth. "Spike, I'm not going to have sex with you. Let me out of these things."

Spike shook his head sadly. "Still deluding yourself, I see. It's a sad case, really. Poor Angel. You still think, that after all these years, I can't tell when you want me?" He shook his head again, making a tsking noise with his tongue. "Sad, Angelus. Very sad."

Then his expression hardened, and Angel was suddenly reminded that though he frequently thought of Spike as a sort of convenient if annoying punching bag, that this was William the Bloody, who was a Master vampire of his own right, even if he did have a soul now. "And I'm sorry, but where did you get the illusion that I was giving you a choice?"

Oh. His dick jumped at that, though he stared nonchalantly at the ceiling and pretended that he was getting an erection, and certainly wasn't thinking about Spike fucking him. Spike hadn't fucked him since... 1884, when Angelus had let him, as a special treat for a particularly creative kill. It was memorable, though, and so he couldn't quite get the image out of his head, Spike holding him down and just slamming his cock into Angel's ass without a thought of the will or desire of the man under him...

Okay, that was more than a twitch, there, and when he risked a glance at Spike Angel realized that the younger vampire noticed. He was smirking now, the half-leer that curled those thin, sensual lips in such a way that you just couldn't quite look away...

"Angel, ladies and gents, still thinking with his cock after all these years," Spike said to the room at large, and Angel's reluctant visual fascination snapped back into righteous anger once again.

"What, and you're so much better?"

"Fuck, no," Spike said. "Difference is, I admit it. You don't. You keep your sex drive bottled inside with damn near everything else, and I'm here to tell you- it just ain't healthy. Gotta let it out, sometimes, Angelus. You can't keep going like this, because sooner or later you're gonna damn well lose it."

He stepped nearer and sat down on the side of the bed, laying a gentle hand with chipped-black nails on Angel's bare chest. "Like tonight. Think I didn't notice the way you looked when you came home? I got the story out of Fred. You should have known I would."

"None of your business, Spike." Why was his voice suddenly so tight?

"Of course it's my business, you wanker. When you come home looking like someone ran over your puppy, of course it's my bloody business to find out what put that look on your face."

Ah, shit. Not this. Not now. This was Spike, and Spike hated him and much as he hated Spike, and he really couldn't take that on top of the grief he was feeling. "Back off, Spike." Yeah, right. Like Spike would listen to that.

"Fred told me she was young. That why it's hitting you so hard?"

"No," he whispered, and as soon as it came out of his mouth he hated himself for not taking the easy way out. But the grief was welling back inside of him, and he was so not turned on anymore but it didn't matter, because he just couldn't get the blood out of his head, and it's all he could see anymore-

"Angel," Spike said, very firmly, and somehow Angel managed to pull himself out of the place in his head and focus on Spike rather than the blood. "Angel, tell me what's got you so worked up so I can make it better."

A bitter laugh escaped him. "Better? Christ, you've got to be kidding me. There was a baby in her arms, Spike. A little baby, barely three months old. And that demon ripped it to shreds along with its mother. There was so much blood..."

And he was lost again for a moment, lost in the pools of blood that had splattered against the alley walls. A whisper of cloth caught his attention, and he blinked his eyes open again to see that Spike had already shed duster and shirt, and was now sitting shirtless on the edge of the bed, working on the laces of his boots.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, and he hated himself because his voice was so weak. This wasn't right, this wasn't him and this sure as hell wasn't Spike.

"I'm taking my kit off, Angel, what the hell does it look like I'm doing?"

Angel stared at him mutely, and Spike relented with a sigh after he pulled off his boots. "I'm gonna take you out of your head for a night, okay? I know damn well that all you want right now is to get all the blood off the inside of your eyelids, and I know just the way to do it."

"How's that?" Angel demanded, sounding hostile and defensive and not caring because he was distracted by the little trail of pale hair the led from Spike's navel and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.

"You're gonna give it all up to me, Angel, and let me handle it for a night."

Oh, hell no. "Oh, hell no," he repeated aloud. "No way. No, no, no. Not doing this. Not a chance."

"I'm not giving you a choice," Spike said mildly enough, and yep, there went the twitch from his dick again. Traitorous thing, not realizing the kind of danger it was putting the rest of him in. No _way_ he was trusting Spike to take control for a night.

"Doesn't matter what you want, Peaches," Spike said, and Angel realized that he'd said the last bit out loud. "Tonight, you're giving me what _I_ want, and, well, if it's not what you want... I'll just have to make you want it, then, won't I?"

With that he stood up and wriggled out of his jeans like it was the most casual thing in the world, rather than a mind-blowing act that was taking away Angel's ability to think. Christ. Naked Spike. Sharp, jutting hips, taut thighs and rounded buttocks and long, thick cock, already rock hard and standing straight up against his stomach. Angel's eyes were drawn to it like a magnet, and he couldn't help but swallow from the memory, almost a hundred and twenty years ago, of having that inside of him.

He wanted it.

No, shit, he didn't. This was _Spike._ He'd get what he wanted, and then somehow use the whole thing to torment Angel with it later. It's what he did. He wasn't happy when he wasn't making someone else miserable.

Only now it seemed like all he wanted was to make Angel as un-miserable as he could get, because he'd slid onto the bed like some great, overgrown cat and straddled Angel's waist with the comfort of someone who doesn't mind wearing just their own skin. Angel's brain was trying very, very hard to just shut down and let his cock take over the thinking for a while, and it renewed efforts when Spike slowly bent down till his lips were just brushing against the smooth skin of Angel's throat. There was a hot flicker of tongue over the point where Angel's pulse would be, if he had one, and then the slow scrape of entirely human but still very sharp teeth over the spot that he'd just licked.

Angel bucked helpless up into Spike's body, wondering why he'd thought that even after all these years Spike would have forgotten exactly how to send him into a state of mindless lust. Spike never forgot _anything_ that he didn't want to, and it seemed like Spike had wanted to hang onto the knowledge of how to drive Angel crazy.

The next few minutes were a haze of mindless pleasure as Spike bit, kissed, licked, and sucked his way down Angel's torso. And then Angel felt his cock enveloped in cool, wet suction, and he truly lost his mind, thrusting his hips frantically into the welcoming mouth. Spike hummed happily under his breath, driving Angel further down the road to insanity, and he wondered dizzily why he'd been protesting this, again?

A split second later he felt one cool, slippery finger probing delicately at his asshole, and reality returned like a bucket of cold water. "No," he said, hoarsely, then again, louder: "No."

"No?" Spike said, lifting his head from Angel's cock. "Are you sure?" He stroked one finger around the tight pucker, pushing very gently, and as a result Angel's "Yes, I'm sure," was less than certain.

"Are you sure you're sure?" Spike said, and with no warning he sank his entire finger into Angel's ass. Angel arched desperately, and his words were lost in his cry as he felt the finger crook slightly sideways and brush his prostate.

"I didn't think so," Spike said smugly, and after a minute the finger withdrew. Angel made a low sound of protest, and Spike shushed him, reintroducing his finger, with a second.

This one went in a little less easily, and the third less easily yet. Angel was beyond stopping this, beyond saying no, and it was all he could do to think, _Why won't he just do it? Why is he being so careful? He knows I can take it._

And then his hand was gone, and Angel could feel the blunt tip of Spike's cock at his entrance, and part of him wondered frantically why he was doing this, again, even as the rest of him cried out for Spike to just get it over with, to stop teasing, please, just do it, please.

Spike must have understood the pleading in his eyes, or maybe he was saying it out loud and didn't realize it, because a split second later Spike was sinking into him, one long, smooth stroke that buried him balls-deep. Angel cried out, a desperate moan, and Spike's face was strained as he gently, so gently, pulled almost all the way out before sliding back in again.

He went on like this for what felt like hours, just fucking him very, very slowly, so carefully and gently that for some reason Angel almost felt tears coming to his eyes. This wasn't just sex, this felt like more than just sex but there was no way that this was more than just sex because this was _Spike_ and would he please move just a little bit faster, please, he'd do anything if he'd move just a little bit faster...

"Look at me, Angel," Spike said, and in his voice Angel heard all the strain that Spike was feeling from moving this slowly. Angel somehow managed to open his eyes, somehow managed to focus them on Spike and really _see_ the expression in the other vampire's eyes, and the look that was there almost broke his heart.

"Angel," Spike whispered, "it wasn't your fault." And with that, he slammed in, hard and as deep as he could go, and started to fuck him relentlessly, desperately, with all the strength of a vampire behind his strokes and shit, yes, this was how Angel wanted it. Just like this, just a little more and a little longer because it had been so long and all he wanted was...

One last stroke that hit him squarely in the prostate and he couldn't help but scream and he lost it, lost all sense of the world around him and his orgasm rolled through him with the force of a freight train, uncontrollable and all-consuming. He slumped back against the bed, vaguely aware of Spike's curse and the cool rush of seed filling him, and then Spike collapsed over his chest, panting for breath that he didn't need.

After a moment Spike seemed to rouse himself, and reached slowly above Angel's head to release the catch on the handcuffs. Angel let his hands drop to the bed, rolling his wrists to release some of the stiffness in them, and then made a grab for Spike when the younger vampire got ready to roll away.

"Oh no you don't," Angel said. "Taught you better than to fuck and run, didn't I?"

Spike didn't try to move away again, but he was by no means relaxed. "Didn't figure you'd want me to hang around," he muttered, and Angel brought his hands up to brush in one long, lingering stroke over the smooth skin of Spike's back, pulling him wordlessly up till he was draped over Angel's chest.

"Stay," he said into the top of Spike's head, and Spike lifted his head to look at him, peering hard at him as if to ascertain the truth of his words.

"You sure?"

"I'm even sure I'm sure," Angel said with a brief smile, and Spike smiled back at him. He darted upwards to press a startling kiss on Angel's lips, then tucked his head back down, resting it in the curve between chest and shoulder, and to all appearances went immediately to sleep.

Angel reached one arm out to flick off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. Spike may or may not have been seriously asleep, but either way Angel wasn't, was just lying awake, staring into the darkness and thinking. This was certainly new and uncharted territory for both of them, and Angel couldn't help but probe at it in his head like poking at a sore tooth.

He'd rarely seen Spike that... tender, before. Certainly never towards him, and _definitely_ never during sex. And Spike's last words, before orgasm- "It's not your fault"- those were honestly mind-bending. Since when had Spike been so insightful? Since when had he understood exactly what Angel needed, in a way that Angel hadn't even realized himself?

Well, it didn't have to be figured out now. Maybe this was just the one night between them, and maybe Spike would spread it all over the building the next morning, but for some reason Angel found himself suddenly unable to worry about it. He'd had tonight, when he most needed it, and even if it never happened again, he couldn't help but be grateful.

And maybe, if they were both very lucky, (and unusually peaceful) this could actually be the beginning of something.

He could always hope.


End file.
